Harvest Moonshine
by Nenalata
Summary: In the eyes of Zephyr Town, Anita is a hardworking farmer who is doing remarkably well in the bazaar. To those in the know, Anita is who you see when you're thirsty and need a good strong drink from her less-than-legal liquor side business.
1. Samogan

Despite its cheery atmosphere and flora-filled environment, Zephyr Town was a town of secrets. Mostly harmless secrets, of course: Isaac would sometimes sneak downstairs in the wee hours of the morning to finish off the cake his wife had baked the night before, for example; Raul lusted after Marian to the point that it almost embarrassed the other villagers; Kevin always pretended to wash his hands before dinner, and his mother had yet to notice that his chubby palms were less than sparkling clean.

And then, of course, there were darker, more interesting secrets. Marian had had an unpleasant—to say the least—experience with a boy back in the city, and he was the reason for her life in the village. The newcomer Amir was a prince, unbeknownst to most of the townspeople. And Anita the farmer raked in a nice profit each bazaar day by selling liquor under the table.

She wasn't vending cheap moonshine; no, this booze came in a variety of flavors and high-quality brews. Beer, mead, champagne, flavored wine—name it, and Anita would already have it on hand and ready to sell it, no questions, don't tell your parents where you got it. On her rather large stand at the bazaar, she rang her little bell for the farmers and nosy neighbor types to eat up her almost overpriced pineapples or fruit yogurt, but if you knew a guy who knew a guy who knew about Anita, all you had to do was give her a subtle nod and 1160 yen, if you wanted something cheap, or sixty hundred if you were of a more refined palate.

Felix couldn't believe how much the small farm was bringing home, and how well it meant the bazaar was doing. Because his town was benefiting from Anita's labors, and because he was a rather small-minded man, he didn't bother to look into the source of Anita's gold. Surely no one was willing to pay so much for herb mayonnaise, which was frankly a little too greasy-sweet for anyone to stomach in large doses. The only one who showed any interest in Anita's winnings was Amir, but since Anita held the knowledge of his being a prince as potential blackmail material, he hadn't seemed to dig into the matter.

And so Anita kept making a tidy profit, Amir kept his mouth shut, and the bazaar continued to thrive.

* * *

The windmill had shuddered to a halt hours ago, and Anita had only just returned from visiting Freya. By her calculations, the latest batch of blueberry wine should have been ready by now. She glanced up at the stationary windmill and frowned. Clearly, this was a problem. She couldn't ask Wilbur to come over when half-fermented liquor was still being processed, lest he need to open up the processing chamber and discover where all her money was coming from.

Or maybe he wouldn't. This town was remarkably lax on authoritative measures and inquiries. Felix hadn't even questioned her criminal history—tax evasion—when she'd applied for ownership of the run-down farm. In fact, she doubted he'd even read her application, just snapped her up as soon as he'd received the packet of papers. Not many people were interested in a shabby ranch in a dying town, after all.

Anita smirked to herself as she tightened her gloves and began inspecting the windmill mechanism. Setting up this little liquor operation had almost been too easy. It wasn't so much that she craved a challenge or enjoyed doing the forbidden—she simply liked being in control of a situation, like being an agricultural region's sole supplier of decent liquor. It was why she'd enjoyed bringing the ratty—and rat-infested—farm to life the way she had.

"Need some help?"

Anita spun around, clutching her hand to her heart in surprise. Amir stood in the open doorway of her windmill, surveying her with an amused half-smile.

"You never visit, Amir," Anita said crisply, trying to regain some of the cool that he'd startled out of her. "What's the matter?"

He invited himself in, glancing around the mechanisms as he did so. "I noticed the windmill on your farm had stopped from my hotel room," he explained. "I was worried you hadn't noticed, so I came over to offer my assistance."

"Yeah, well, it's perfectly taken care of," Anita replied, looking the cogs and pumps over herself. "Thanks for your concern, but I noticed, too."

"Did you figure out the problem?"

"What?" She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "No, not yet. But I will. It can't be too complicated, right?"

"You should ask Wilbur to help if you're confused," Amir said. "I'm sure it's a problem he could easily fix."

"No, you know me. I like to fix things by myself."

Amir gave her a long look, one that made her uncomfortable. It was a searching look, a dubious look. She bristled.

"I do," she said emphatically.

"Of course," he said, so calmly that Anita knew he didn't believe her. "Let's take a look at the processing chamber. That's usually where the problem lie—something getting stuck, or—"

Anita darted in front of him. "No," she said flatly. "I have something fermenting in there. I don't want the air to get to it."

"If there's a problem with the windmill that checking out the—"

"No."

Amir folded his arms over his chest, irritation and suspicion glittering in his eyes. "It's not like you to be this…tenacious," he said. _Tenacious_ was obviously the politest word he'd chosen.

"Yes, it is."

He raised an ice-colored eyebrow. "What are you hiding, Anita?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not hiding anything," she said, just as softly and sternly.

"Whatever's in there isn't going to ferment properly as long as the windmill isn't working," he argued.

"Thanks for offering to help, Amir," Anita said instead. "I think I can handle it from here." She turned her back on him pointedly, pretending to poke about the mechanisms. She continued the charade until she heard footsteps leave the premises. She whipped around when she was positive he was gone and opened the processing chamber. The problem was immediately apparent. Amidst the slush of half-fermented blueberries and grapes, a huge wad of blueberry-grape was caught between two pumps, preventing them from moving up and down. Anita groped about in her rucksack for her retractable sickle, then slid the scythe between the pumps. The offending gob of fruity goo removed, the pumps began working at their usual speed, and Anita could hear the windmill churning again. She leaned back from the chamber with satisfaction.

Someone gasped behind her. She whirled around for the second time that day to find Amir peering in yet again. His eyes were fixated on the open processing chamber, and she slammed it shut, heart racing.

"Can I help you?" she bit out.

Amir's surprised gaze moved to meet her eyes. "Did I just see what I think I saw?"

"It's tea," she snapped.

Amir gave her a disappointed look before turning and leaving once more. She raced out after him.

"You didn't see anything, Amir," she called after him. He didn't move. Raising her voice, she yelled, "I meant to say, Prince Amir Ranjit Raj Singh!"

He glanced back at her once before continuing down the hill.

* * *

The next day heralded the beginning of fall, and Amir visited her farm to say goodbye. If she stared a little too intensely into his eyes and gripped his hand a little harder when they shook hands farewell, neither of them mentioned it.

The entire season, Anita slept a little easier, knowing Amir was far away. Fall was always a good bazaar season for her. Though her basement greenhouse always ensured a stock of grapes was at hand, her natural grape vines flourished in the sunshine and high-quality fertilizer she caked the plants with. Her attention was focused a little more on the upkeep of so many vines, but she still made sure to take care of her herds of animals and orchards of fruit trees to cover up her little hobby. Felix was pleased with her work, and she was making plans to add a second floor to her house when the season ended and Amir came back with the winter chill.

Winter was a difficult season enough, Amir's presence notwithstanding. Her sole source of honest income lay in her animals, and she no longer had the seasonal fruits and herbs to make her famous yogurt and cheeses, as her greenhouse was devoted entirely to grapes and apples. Covering up her side gig at the bazaar was always hardest in the winter, and Amir's suspicions were going to make it even harder.

"It's good to see you again," Amir greeted her bright and early the first of winter.

Anita's answering smile was less than warm. "The same to you, Amir."

They observed each other with growing awkwardness until Amir turned to go.

"Why don't you come over for dinner tonight?" Anita blurted out.

Amir stared.

"I think it would be nice to have a little chat," Anita said, sugary-sweet. "We should catch up, after your long trip away."

Amir gave a slow nod. "I think we have some catching up to do, too," he answered.

She waved goodbye as he walked down the path of her ranch. She noticed he gave her sign a long look, and when she later went to check it out herself, she realized a change was in order. No good trying to barter with the man when her farm's name was written in painted grapevines. She'd grown bold, apparently.

She was busy repainting when Amir showed up around seven o'clock.

"Needed a change?" he asked, pointing to the sign.

"Needed a change," she agreed. The farm's name was written in plain gold, outlined in even plainer black. "Winter called for a more somber sign."

"I see."

She beckoned him inside and seated him at the dining table. "Dinner will be just a minute. I need to add some finishing touches first." Anita headed into the kitchen, which already smelled deliciously of cooked carrots and shiitake. The wonderful aromas only increased as she removed the lid from the pot of simmering stew just enough to add some homemade sake.

Once it seemed done, she turned off the heat and scooped two bowls of the stuff. Balancing the two on one arm with a basket of fresh bread on the other, she made her grand entrance into the main room. With a sarcastic flourish, she plopped Amir's bowl in front of him. It was only after she'd seated herself and had a spoonful of soup in one hand that she realized Amir hadn't touched his meal.

"Something wrong?" Anita asked, almost genuinely concerned. If she wanted this evening to go smoothly, the most she could afford was that he enjoyed dinner.

"I'm sure it can't be coincidence, but…" Amir met her gaze suspiciously. "Stew is my favorite thing to eat. Did you know?"

She laughed awkwardly. Now he really knew she was trying to butter him up, and she hadn't even intended to be so obvious. "No, I didn't," Anita said truthfully. "Stew is just such a good winter dish that I barely even thought about it. Well, obviously I wanted to make something nice," she backtracked, seeing his mildly offended look, "but you know what, I'm going to shut up. I'm glad it's your favorite. Hope you like it."

Amir did seem to enjoy it, saying little but savoring each bite. Anita was finished long before he was. Towards the bottom of his bowl, however, he made a face.

"Is that sake I taste?"

Anita flushed. "I guess it didn't cook down all the way."

"From the premises, I assume," he said, raising an eyebrow.

She tilted her chin at him. Why not be brave and get right to the point? "Yes, it is. Are you finished?"

"I am. Thank you. It was a nice welcome-back gift."

As she began clearing the table, she made a mental note to let the stew cook for a bit longer. "The evening's not over yet, my friend," she said from the kitchen, stumbling over the forced endearment. "Stay for dessert, why don't you?"

"I'd be glad to, thank you." She heard the switch from his casual dinnertime tone to a stiff, more formal one and knew he'd be ready for discussion. She smiled.

Anita came out of the kitchen once more, this time bearing a plate of stewed apples, two wineglasses and a bottle. She noticed his gaze stray to the wine and she grinned. She wiggled the bottle in front of him. "I assume this is why you're here?" she teased, trying his temper.

To his credit, Amir didn't rise to the bait. "I came because you invited me," he responded coolly.

"Of course." Anita set the bottle, plate and glasses down. "You remember this wine, I hope? It's the blueberry I was working on when the windmill got clogged. It's made with Muscat grapes, so it should complement the apple dessert nicely."

"I see," he said indifferently, but she noticed he didn't refuse a glass.

"Dessert wines are one of my most popular bottles," she began conversationally. "The people in these parts usually just drink the swill that the local crappy vineyard offers and don't even realize that there's a whole world of drink to explore. When they discover the exquisite sweetness of a dessert wine, especially one as high quality as the kind I sell, they immediately become loyal customers. Their dinners are fancier, their palates a little happier, and I have a new best buddy each week."

"What's your point, Anita?" Amir interrupted.

Anita smiled and took a sip. Sweet, only mildly acidic. Delicious, as always. "My point, dear Amir, is that my little side business is only illegal because I don't have a liquor license, and where am I supposed to get one in this tiny little town? The city is too far away for my farm to get to. Now—"

"Joan has a liquor license," Amir pointed out.

Anita glared. "May I finish?" He gestured for her to continue. "Thank you. Now, if you turn me in to Felix, I lose a lot of business, boohoo. But a large majority of people in close counties and even this little village will be out for your neck, not to mention miserable."

"Anita—"

"There also is the little detail about your secret princedom," Anita said a little louder. For a member of the royal family, polite prince Amir sure was fond of interrupting people. "Now, I know Felix is the only person besides myself who knows. But imagine how inconvenient that would be for you if that secret got out."

"Anita, I'm not looking to turn you in," Amir finally cut in.

Anita blinked. "Run that by me again?"

Amir leaned back in his chair with a little smile. "At least, that isn't my main goal. If you cause me trouble like you're threatening to, then yes, I certainly will. But no, _my dear_, turning you in isn't on the top of my agenda."

"Oh," Anita exhaled. "Well, that sure is a load off my chest. Guess I invited you over for nothing."

His smile grew. "That was rather unfriendly to say."

Anita only shrugged. "What can I say? I was worried that was what you were out to get done."

Amir laughed at her brazenness, but soon his features grew stern. "That doesn't mean I won't turn you in if you don't hear me out."

Back came the worry. "What do you want?"

"I want a cut of the profits."

Anita laughed, disbelieving. "No way."

"No way as in no, or no way you don't believe me?"

"No way both ways. You're a prince. You're filthy rich. I don't see why you need hush money."

Amir's eyes narrowed. "The prince thing is part of the problem. I'm looking to renounce my claims to the throne."

Anita whistled. "That's some serious political trouble you're gonna get yourself in, kiddo."

He gave her a sharp look. "That's why I need money. I'll lose access to my funds once my father realizes I'm serious and disowns me. I'll need money, and if you want me to keep your secret, I'd appreciate the, as you called it, 'hush money.'"

Anita grinned. "So you're in my debt more and more."

"Not really, since I want half the profits."

"Don't think so, Disillusioned Prince. That's a lot of money for me to give up."

He shrugged again. "You either lose half your funds, or you lose your entire way of life."

"And you agree to my answer of 'no' unless you want everyone at the bazaar told of a prince with a dark past and a darker, renounced-ier future."

Amir stared her down. It didn't work.

"I see we're at an impasse," Anita said more dramatically than needed.

Amir seemed to accept it. "Indeed. There must be a way we can work this out."

Anita chewed her lip. "I can think of one solution, but you're not going to like it."

"Then we might as well reject it now before we waste any more breath."

"No, no, hear me out," Anita insisted. "Look, clearly I can't just give you half my profits…"

"You could."

She ignored him. "But perhaps we can work out a deal for our deal. I'm going to need to work even harder to make up for my lost profits to you. The bazaar is depending on me, and I want a house expansion. I don't think I can work that hard on my own. How about you work part-time on my farm? Since you won't be locked in your hotel all day studying, you can spend the extra time telling everyone that you're studying agribusiness for home by working hands-on. That way, you'll really be earning the profits instead of just stealing them from me."

Amir frowned. "You're right. I don't like it. Forgive me."

"Oh, come on. You just don't like the thought of manual labor."

"I've never done a day's work in my life," he said imperiously.

"So it'll be good for you. It'll be an experience. Then you'll have enough saved up so you can properly shame your father."

Amir seemed to be considering it, and she leapt upon his weakness.

"You'll get stew for lunch as often as you'd like," she tempted him.

"That's true," he muttered to himself.

Anita sipped her wine as he debated the issue. Fortunately, the wineglass covered her self-important smirk.

"Fine," he finally agreed, and held out his hand.

"Half the profits, and I'll see you at work at six AM tomorrow," she said cheerfully. She reached over the table and grasped his darker hand, and as they shook, a partnership was struck.

_AN: There'll probably be at least one more chapter, if not two more. Thanks for reading, and I hope you review!_


	2. Aragh

Promptly at seven o'clock, a knock on her door disturbed Anita from her breakfast of French toast and hard-boiled egg.

"I told you to be here at six," Anita scolded Amir as she let him in.

"I tried getting up at five, but it didn't work. I do live forty minutes away, you know."

Anita pursed her lips. "Fine. Seven will do. Come join me for breakfast; there are a few things I'd like to speak with you about."

As Amir moved fried bread around his plate uncomfortably, Anita spoke between bites. "So I was doing a bit of thinking last night, and I realized that I'm gonna have to say no can do to your little half-the-profits scheme."

Amir stared at her. "We shook on it."

Anita waved her fork in the air as she considered. "That's more of a symbolic thing, really," she decided, taking a bite of bread with emphasis. "Certainly we have to leave room for problems, if they arise, and I'd say your share of the profits is indeed a problem."

"I'm sorry, Anita, but if I don't get half, then I'm not doing any work for you, and I'm going straight to Felix."

Anita's eyes snapped to his face with a cold suddenness. "I don't think so, your Highness." She leaned closer to him with a hard edge in her expression. "Do you really think that you'll be so invaluable to me as a worker that you'll deserve half of what I make? You've never done a day's work in your life, so you said. That means I'm going to have to spend the time to train you. Time is money, Prince Amir. I'm offering you a third of the profits, and I'd say that's pretty generous."

"You can't intimidate me," Amir responded with an unimpressed laugh. "I've had to deal with politicians more practiced in manipulation. We agreed on half the profits, and if you're going to back out, you know where I'll go."

The mood had become abruptly antagonistic, and Anita held in a biting retort. No need to start out the first day already raring to go for each other's throats. She took a deep breath, smiled, and returned to her reclining dining position. "Let's start over."

"Let's start where we came in, with our deal at fifty-fifty."

Another calming breath, another charming smile. "Hear me out, Amir," she said winningly. "Don't turn your nose up at a third before I tell you what I make, exactly."

He sighed deeply. "I will be fair."

Perfect. Anita's charming smile grew into something slightly more predatory before she reigned it in. "You're not present at the merchants' meeting the day after the bazaar, so you wouldn't know this," she began. "You might know that we are the best bazaar in the world, so Felix sets everyone's daily goal at five hundred thousand yen. To encourage us to meet the goal, Felix gives out prizes to whoever made the most money."

She stared at him until he met her gaze. "I always win, Amir. And I don't mean I make the goal by the tip of my nose. I make close to a million each bazaar day. Sixty percent of that million comes from my liquor business. A third of a million yen each week is going to leave you with plenty of pocket change."

The doubtful expression on the young prince's face was losing its prominence. Anita swooped in for the kill by appealing to his honorable side. "Let's not forget that I have a farm to manage. I have close to fifty animals, four orchards, and two buildings to maintain. A lot of the money I earn goes into taking care of all that. If you take a fifty percent cut, I'll only have enough to put a loaf of bread on the table."

His expression wavered between acquiescence and indecision. Anita held her breath.

"I suppose one third is more than sufficient," he finally sighed. Anita repressed the urge to clap her hands with pleasure.

"Excellent. I'm glad we resolved that little detail. You'll get a third of the bazaar profits every Monday after a bazaar." She rose, taking their clean dishes with her. "Let me put these in the sink, and then we can get to work. We've wasted enough time."

* * *

Anita had given Amir the choice of working the orchards or taking care of the animals, and after having his baggy white pants played with by Anita's newest cat, he'd decided to go with animals. Anita led him into the barn to get them properly acquainted. There were ten cows, ten sheep, twenty chickens, four cats and four dogs, and a noble white horse. Anita began rattling off the names of each animal, but Amir was unable to remember them except for the horse's, a fact that he was sure she knew.

"It's snowing a bunch today, and while ordinarily I'd just let them outside if the weather isn't too bad, let's pretend it's raining or storming so I can show you what to do in that situation," Anita began. She whistled a rather odd whistle, and the cats and dogs, which had begun rounding up the herd animals, suddenly darted back into the house.

She walked over to a feed dispenser, where fresh fodder was already waiting. "This part is kind of self-explanatory," she said, "but you look kind of lost, so I'll explain it anyway. On a nice day, the pets will just lead the animals outside and lead them back in at five in the evening, but when the weather's bad, you're going to need to feed the animals.

"The fodder basket is weight-sensitive, so scoop up whatever's lying in it and some fresh fodder will pour itself out. Take it." Amir hesitantly began piling up the bits of cut grass in his arms, trying to keep it from spilling out. Sure enough, a pressure plate in the basket rose, and with a few mechanical beeps, more fodder was released.

"See that big trough there?" Anita pointed. "Put it all in. Make sure it's spread evenly throughout. They'll eat it up quickly, so you might need to put in some more to make sure every animal's eaten. I'll wait for you with the chickens." She hopped over a short white fence in the back of the barn with the ease of several years of practice. Amir awkwardly continued distributing fodder until he'd counted twenty animals leaving the trough, then, just as awkwardly, stepped over the same fence.

Anita was studying him with a poorly-disguised grin as she watched his stumbles. "Mind the chicken poo," she cautioned him, miming rolling up her capri pants. Amir did so with growing distaste. "So feeding the chicken is pretty simple; there's a similar feed dispenser here," she pointed, "only pour it out on the floor. They'll make happy sounds once they've eaten, so you'll know when to stop." She gestured for him to do so. The chicken feed plopped out in handy little sacks; Amir much preferred them to the fodder.

Once he was finished, Anita gave an appreciative nod before continuing on her tour. "Now, after they've eaten, it's good to pet them all a little and check them for signs of stress."

"All of them?" Amir hadn't even realized the thought had spilled out of his mouth before it was too late. Anita gave him an unsympathetic glance.

"All of them," she agreed. "Just a quick little pat and check over the body." She demonstrated, doing so with such blinding speed that Amir apologized and said he needed to see it again.

She glared at him. "You're not going to get out of this by asking for example over example," she said irritably, cuddling a Silkie chicken a little slower for Amir's benefit. "Now you try."

The chickens didn't seem to be as receptive to his touch, and he drew his hand away quite a few times for fear of being pecked or scratched at. Finally, one chicken with a spotted wattle chirped happily when he gingerly rubbed its wings, and he felt truly successful. Anita didn't allow him time to celebrate.

"They'll warm up to you," she said dismissively. "Now, in the morning, they'll have laid eggs in their little cubby holes," again she pointed, "so you'll want to scoop them up into your—oh, shoot," she said, starting. "You don't have a rucksack, do you?" Amir shook his head. "We'll have to get one made for you. Or, I don't know, maybe I have an old one lying around." She gave him a once-over. Amir felt almost insulted at the quick way she glanced his body over, sizing him up rather than slowly admiring. It wasn't like she'd made their relationship clear, of course. "We'll need to get you something more farmer-friendly." She sighed. "That's wool that I'll have to process for clothing instead of selling. Oh, well. It can't be helped. Speaking of which, let's teach you how to shear a sheep."

Amir quickly learned he was not cut out to be a shepherd. He was so terrified of harming the animal with the wicked-looking scissors that most of the wool remained on the animal when he was finished. Anita sighed again, a sound he was quickly becoming used to.

"Never mind. When the sheep need shearing, I'll do it myself. It doesn't take that long for _me_ to do it, anyway." Amir flinched. "Let's see if you're any better at milking cows."

Anita led him back into the kitchen, where a cabinet next to the sink held an impressive array of different shapes of bottles. "I get new shipments of bottles every Tuesday," she explained, "but that's something I'll take care of, not you, since it's still my money I'm paying with. Now then…" She reached onto the bottom shelf and pulled out a large bucket. "I'll have filled this with warm water by the time you get here, and I'll even put it in the barn for you. You'll wanna clean the cow with this before you get to milking."

Amir felt the blood leave his face. "Am I correct in assuming that this will be much more complicated than shearing a sheep?"

"Oh, not at all," Anita insisted, waving her hand dismissively. "It's easy."

Amir didn't feel encouraged.

"So about the bottles. You see these thin ones? Those are for the black cows. The bigger bottles are for the brown cows, because they produce more milk. These golden bottles I get specially for my prize-winning cows, but I already pointed those out to you. You remember Amanda, Claire and Theresa?" Anita nodded encouragingly. Amir could only offer a weak smile, which unfortunately Anita noticed.

"You won't be able to recognize them, will you," she said. Obviously, it was not a question. Amir looked away, embarrassed. Anita sighed for the hundredth time.

"Let's get you milking anyway. We'll see what happens."

What happened was Amir not quite figuring out how to hold the bottle in between his knees like Anita had instructed, causing the cow to knock it over and spill milk everywhere. Anita's answering gasp was imbued with horror and rage. Amir could tell that where he saw spilled milk, Anita saw money trickling down the drain. He prepared for a severe tongue-lashing, but to his surprise, she remained quiet.

"It's okay, Amir," she said after a long, frightening pause. Her calm tone worried him more than the silence had. "I keep forgetting that you're completely new to all this. Let me finish milking the cows. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen while I wrap up here."

* * *

It was just after one o'clock when Anita returned to the house to find a very awkward Amir sitting at her dining room table.

"Did you eat anything?" she asked him, a little out of breath from the bottles of milk she held in her arms.

"I got a little lost in your storage space," Amir admitted with an embarrassed laugh. "I found some rice and cooked that for myself. I hope you don't mind."

"No, I have plenty of rice," Anita answered as she began piling away milk in the aforementioned storage, "but I'm surprised that you think that'll tide you over for the rest of the day. We're going to be doing some hard work."

Amir regretted ever agreeing to helping out. Would he be able to find a way to back out? Certainly, this was something to consider over the coming days. "What will we be doing?" he stammered.

"You. What will _you_ be doing. And what _you'll _be doing is taking care of the orchard." She pulled her gloves tighter with a grin. "Consider yourself lucky. In the winter, all you need to take care of is the greenhouse. I might have to dock your pay a little, since it's such little work."

"Or you could pay me more, since it's probably nothing you couldn't do yourself," Amir responded coldly.

"Don't push it, your Highness," Anita snapped. Then, regaining her composure, she continued, "Please follow me into the greenhouse. It's in the basement."

As Amir descended the rickety wooden steps with her, he couldn't help but grin to himself. Money was obviously a subject close to Anita's heart, and if he ever felt like riling her up a bit—just in the name of a little payback—he knew what to say. The moment her feet hit the bottom step, Anita spun around and handed him a pair of pruning shears. As if she could sense his mutinous thoughts, she added, "Don't get any ideas."

"I would never—" Amir, appalled, began, but Anita cut him off.

"I'm just teasing. Here, look," she said, grasping an overgrown tree branch. Amir started, realizing he had yet to realize the enormous space that he suddenly found himself in. Despite its stone walls, the basement seemed to be overflowing in greenery. Grapevines clambered over countless wooden posts, practically fencing the dozens of apple trees in. Flowers blossomed from many of the trees, some even bearing baby fruits. Blueberry bushes covered what available space there was like a carpet. Amir stood standing with his mouth open until Anita impatiently snapped her fingers in front of his glazed eyes.

"You can admire them later. You'll be seeing a great deal of them, after all." She then proceeded to show him how to trim the trees, bushes and vines with the pruning shears, which, while much easier than milking a cow, made Amir sure that in a few days' time, he'd end up with sore muscles.

"Oh, definitely," Anita agreed when he brought the subject up. "You're going to be in a lot of pain over the next few days." Seeing his almost imperceptible look of dismay, her expression softened. "You know, I can be generous. If you need a day to rest the first few weeks, I can handle the orchard myself for a day." He flashed her an appreciative smile before she continued. "Just understand that I'm going to take a slice out of your pay for the week."

An argument immediately flared up. This time, Amir did not back down until she'd agreed that okay, he was allowed a few sick days. The anger didn't quite dissipate until she'd finished showing him how to fertilize the plants when they were flowering.

Finally, Anita stretched and glanced at her watch. "Well, I have to head out into the fields to make sure all the animals are rounded up, then get started dinner."

"I'll head back to the hotel, then," Amir said with a grateful sigh. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought Anita looked disappointed, but when he met her gaze, her typical businesslike manner hadn't wavered. He must be desperate to find any sign of weakness in the woman, he realized with annoyance.

"See you at seven, then," she said, heading up the stairs. When he hadn't moved, she called down, "Amir, I need to lock up after you." With a start, he darted up the stairs before she grew any more impatient.

"Good night, Amir," she said once she'd finished, and held out her hand. Amir gripped it in a firm handshake.

"Good night, Anita."

"Seven o'clock," she reminded him as he walked back down the hill. He thought he saw her wave goodbye, but when he turned to wave back, she'd already closed her door.

_AN: Sorry if this chapter was a little boring and short. But it was speedy! Thanks so much for all the alerts, faves and the kind reviews! Looks like this story'll end up having a few more chapters than I originally planned. Sorry if you were in for a shorter fic, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Reviews make my day!_


	3. Kumi kumi

Amir arrived at the farm promptly at seven the next day. Anita was impressed by his punctuality and nearly said so until she realized that such easy praise would most likely go to his head. He was, after all, an amateur, and amateurs fed off praise. No use in giving her little farmhand a sizeable ego before their work together had even truly started.

They ate a silent breakfast of rice and miso before she sent the prince down to the greenhouse. After making sure he wouldn't slice his fingers off with the pruning shears, she went along her own business.

Antoinette usually was available at home until eight thirty, when she left to wander the countryside, Anita mused to herself as she milked the cows, which meant there wasn't much time left to catch her. There was even less time to shear the sheep, but hopefully Anita had enough wool on hand to make an outfit. Antoinette most likely wouldn't tolerate Anita asking her to make some new clothes while she was out and about, and less likely to wait for Anita to run back home to shear the sheep for extra wool if it turned out there wasn't enough. A no-win situation, which meant she probably didn't even have enough time to check the chickens over yet. Anita sighed and walked briskly over to her storage to grab her saved wool. Antoinette was one of her closest friends, but goodness, the girl could be prickly.

Before leaving, Anita peeked down the stairs to check on Amir. Though he was wielding the pruning shears a little uncertainly, he didn't seem likely to accidentally kill himself. Each rebellious branch was cut a little more confidently each time.

The benefits of hiring a studious man—he learned fast and with dedication. "Good work," Anita muttered absently.

"Thank you, Anita," Amir said, turning towards her with a smile.

Anita flushed and scowled. "Get back to work," she snapped, getting out of sight and closing the house door behind her with a little more force than necessary.

She burst into Antoinette's house almost, but not quite, on time, nearly running into an exiting Antoinette as she did so.

"Watch it," Antoinette said flatly, pulling back a bit. "I was just about to leave. What do you want?"

"Nice to see you, too," Anita responded with a smile. "I was actually wondering if you could make something for me."

"An accessory?" the other woman asked, moving to the family room from the hallway and stretching luxuriously on the couch. "You'll have to get me the materials."

Anita sat without being told, not expecting an invitation. "No, an outfit, actually. And before you get too excited, I'm not letting you make me over. It's a man's outfit."

"You could do with some new clothes," Antoinette grumbled. She perked up after a moment. "Did you say a man's outfit? Why a man's outfit?"

"I got Amir to work on my farm, but all he has are prince, ah, princely clothes," Anita caught herself, "you know, too frou-frou for farm work. I have some yarn with me, but if you need more, just let me know." She handed the balls of yarn over, which Antoinette immediately began inspecting. She had nothing to worry about—the wool was of the highest quality, of course.

Antoinette ran the yarn over her fingers for a few more moments before her eyes abruptly rose to meet Anita's. "You have his measurements, too, I assume?"

"His what?"

"His measurements," Antoinette said, enunciating the words. "I can't turn this into cloth before I know his measurements."

"Oh," Anita responded. "I didn't think of that. I'll ask him for them today and get back to you. You'll still make them, right?"

"Okay," Antoinette sighed. "I can start designing them right now. If I have any questions, will you be on your farm all day?"

Anita chewed her lip as she thought. "Probably. If I'm not there, I'm probably at a windmill, so please just wait around a bit for me to come back."

"I suppose that's fine," Antoinette said with another world-weary sigh. "I'm going to start designing it now. See you later."

Anita knew when to leave Antoinette alone to her work. Thanking her friend again, she exited, annoyed at herself for forgetting something as obvious as _measurements_.

* * *

Anita was roasting a couple of eggplants left over from the fall harvest for lunch when Amir came up from the basement, looking sweaty and disheveled. Anita grinned to herself as he collapsed in a dining chair.

"I hope you like eggplant," she called from the kitchen. He nodded tiredly and picked a leaf out of his hair.

"Do you want some tea?" she asked him as she served lunch. "Tea gives you strength."

Amir made a face and began digging in. Anita smirked.

"So tired you're reduced to silence and gestures, huh?" she asked, daintily cutting a slice of eggplant for herself. "What happened to your courtly manners?"

Amir swallowed. "I'm so sorry, Anita. No, I don't like tea very much."

Anita held in a laugh without much success. Amir stared at her, perplexed.

"Forget I, uh, laughed anything." They continued to eat in fairly comfortable silence for a few moments before Anita set down her fork. "Oh, right. I completely forgot. Amir, I need your clothing measurements."

"What for?"

"Well, you can't keep working in those things," she said, pointing. Amir looked down. His once-pristine white robes were now drenched in sweat and caked in dirt, and a few twigs had wormed their way through the threads of fabric.

"I have other clothes," he said indifferently.

"I'm sure you do, your Highness," Anita responded, "but what I'm saying is you need work clothes, not frolicking-about-the-throne-room clothes."

"We don't 'frolic' in the—"

"So," she interrupted loudly, "I ordered you some new clothes from Antoinette, but she needs your measurements before she can make them for you. Can I have them? I'll write them down."

She pulled a pen out of her rucksack by her chair and prepared to scribble the numbers down on her paper napkin.

"I don't know my measurements."

Anita stared.

Amir stared back. "What?"

"How do you not know your measurements?" she asked him, appalled.

"Please remember that I don't come from a small town where everyone makes their own clothes," Amir said with a grin that made Anita want to smack him. "My measurements were known by the palace weavers, and they never shared them with me."

Anita sighed and went quiet.

"I think I know where this is going," she said after a long pause.

What followed after the dishes were cleaned up was a very awkward measuring session in which Amir stood very still and thought about other things while Anita went around him with a measuring tape, occasionally snapping at him in embarrassment.

Fortunately, by the time Antoinette impatiently knocked on her door asking if she had the measurements yet, Anita's embarrassed blush had receded and the measurements were successfully scrawled on the napkin. Antoinette departed to work on the outfit without even showing Anita what was in her sketchbook.

Amir had left early, and Anita didn't want to find a reason to make him stay.

* * *

By the time Amir had finished crawling back to the hotel room, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to die from embarrassment or the pain in his muscles. Anita had told him to quit whining because he was going to get sexy muscles, but an awkward silence had descended after her failed attempt at a joke, and he was not much comforted by her suggestion. She had then told him to stop squirming and let her measure, when of course he'd been doing nothing of the sort.

He hobbled into the bathroom to draw himself a boiling hot bath, a task he was still getting used to even after a few years of living in the small town. He still half-expected servants to swoosh into the room with jugs of scented oils and flowers to place floating on the bath's surface.

Some luxuries were harder to lose than others.

The bathtub finally full, he sighed as he eased himself in, a sigh that changed to a hiss of pain as the hot water flooded into all the branch scrapes from today. The stinging pain cleared his mind of the foggy exhaustion, however, leaving him plenty of time to ruminate on how awkward all his interactions with Anita had been today. First there had been the—rather humorous—moment when he'd caught her praising his work, and then the—less fun—lunch that had led to the intensely uncomfortable measuring.

The outfit better be something spectacular, he thought, in order to make up for today.

_AN: Yes, that's it for now. I swear, we'll get back to the bootlegging next chapter. Sorry this was so late. Skyward Sword sucked me in with its siren call. But I finally beat it, for those of you who don't care! Also, for those of you who asked, the chapter titles are named after different forms of moonshine around the world. Today's is from Kenya, and it means "kill me quickly!" Thank you so much for reading, and thanks to those of you who choose to review!_


	4. Maria Louca

Winter was passing with remarkable speed ever since Amir and Anita had struck their little deal, Anita mused one day. She was fast growing used to having a bit of extra time at the end of her days, which she liked immensely. It left a bit of free time in her evenings to read a book—something she hadn't been able to do in a while—or take extra special care of her animals.

She was also fast growing used to preparing meals for two, and she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. Amir was a necessary evil who was shaping up to be a better farmhand than she was expecting. He was not a friend. He was not a constant, pleasant figure in her life. These reminders didn't help when she would find herself making a dinner too large for one person, as she had, out of habit, doubled the recipe. Amir would never know that she was serving him leftovers for lunch; if he had, perhaps he would have realized why the meal was served so crabbily.

Or maybe he wouldn't have. "Crabby" was Anita's general state of being, and if she acted any other way around him, it tended to surprise him into discomfort as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

Anita had learned the hard way that being nice to Amir was more trouble than it was worth. For Winter Harmony Day, Anita had spent the time—and _money_, damn it—to bake Amir some chocolate cookies and wrap them up in yellow paper. He'd been working constantly for the past two weeks, never taking a single day off and rarely complaining. He deserved a nice thank-you for his hard work, and though Anita admitted she could be a touch stingy, she still could be known to express gratitude.

It was a nicety.

It was common courtesy.

It wasn't even a romantic holiday.

Then why had Amir looked so damn suspicious when she'd offered him the yellow package?

"What is this?" he'd asked dubiously, raising the gift up a bit and eying it with uncertainty.

"It's a wrapped present, Amir," Anita had said, plastering a smile on her face. "That's the fun part; you don't know what's inside until you open it."

Amir had offered it back to her. "No, thank you. I don't want it exploding on me."

Anita had been surprised by the hurt that stabbed through her heart. "You don't really think that poorly of me, do you?" she'd asked, genuinely curious.

Amir's answering look told her all she needed to know.

The hurt deepened. "I don't try to be the bad guy in this, Amir," she'd said quietly. "It's a Winter Harmony Day present. They're chocolate cookies."

"Are they poisoned?"

"You know what? Forget it," Anita had snapped, snatching the present out of his grasp. "I was just trying to thank you for all the hard work you've been doing for me lately. Isn't that the point of this holiday? To show thanks? But if you're going to be a sarcastic ass about it, lesson learned. I won't let my guard down again and try to be grateful anymore."

At her little speech, Amir had looked surprised for half a second before the suspicion returned. "I'm only doing the 'hard work' because you're blackmailing me," he'd snapped back.

"Get back to work."

"I will," he'd hissed, storming back down the basement stairs, even though both of them knew he'd finished for the day.

Anita had eaten all the cookies by herself that midnight, too embarrassed to call a friend up to share them with. Destroying the evidence of her weakness.

Anita winced at the memory, shoving her pillow over her face. Glancing at her clock, she saw that it was already two AM. She had to get up in three hours, and so far she hadn't slept at all. All this sleeplessness over the silly fact that tomorrow—well, _today_—was the twenty-third of winter, and she couldn't decide if she was supposed to ask Amir to dinner the next day.

* * *

Amir threw on his new farmer's clothes as quickly as he could, though he struggled with the pants buttons, as always. Antoinette had designed some odd clasp system that made the fit extra snug and durable, though learning how to properly hook each button over its matching metal loop had caused him to be twenty minutes late to work the first time he'd put them on. He was too embarrassed to explain to Anita the reason for his tardiness, so after a bit of mostly one-sided arguing, she'd docked him a thousand gold from that week's pay.

Amir's first bazaar had been fast, confusing, and, at times, disturbing. Many of her customers were surprised to find him working there and seemed not to be sure whether or not he was in charge of the bootlegging business. Anita eventually solved the confusion—which was slowing down business—by directing her thirstier customers to Amir, who soon learned the most efficient way to slip money into his many-pocketed new jacket and hand over crates of booze marked FRUIT in one elegant motion. By the end of the day, Anita had been the happiest he'd ever seen her, and they spent the evening counting gold together. His tardiness penalty had mattered little, he'd decided, once he was walking away with gold weighing down his trousers.

Amir finished buttoning up said trousers and dashed out the door. A bazaar was coming up in a few days, and last week when they'd run out of blueberry wine, Anita had been furious. He was supposed to check on this week's batch and make sure they'd be ready in time. If not, it was—again his job—to watch over the animals while Anita went fishing to insure a stream of cash to make up for the lost profits.

Unfortunately, Daisy stopped him on his way out the door. "Amir, are you joining us for dinner tomorrow night?" she squealed, clasping her hands together in excitement.

_Excitement for what?_ "Is there something special about tomorrow night?" he inquired politely.

"Silly, you remember!" she giggled, swatting him with her feather duster. "It's the Starry Night Festival!"

Of course. With his frenzied work on the farm lately, it had completely slipped his mind. He usually spent it with the hotel family and Angelo. "I don't see any reason why not," he replied. "Thank you for inviting me."

"Oh, you always act so surprised!" she said with another laugh and swat of the duster. "It's no trouble at all. There'll be chocolate fondue, so bring your appetite!"

He nodded vaguely and continued his dash out the door. Glancing to his left, he saw a path leading up to a ledge that he'd never noticed before. Judging by the trail, it looked like it would lead directly into the northern part of town. He was already running later than he'd like; maybe he'd find a new shortcut to Anita's farm.

Sure enough, the ledge dropped him off exactly where he'd predicted, and the path only continued as he jumped from ledge to ledge.

As he arrived at the farm twenty minutes earlier than usual, Amir vowed to start getting up later.

Anita's horse Firefoot was already out and about, so Amir decided that, rather than start work early, he would relax and spend time with the only animal whose name he could remember. The horse was a deep chestnut that seemed to shine from the harsh winter sun, and Amir spent a few moments admiring its beautiful coat before a creak from the door alerted him to Anita's presence.

"You're up early," she said. Amir glanced at her guiltily. To his surprise, she didn't sound irritated. In fact, if he had to use an adjective to describe her demeanor, he'd probably choose…

Meek.

The thought startled him. "Meek" was not usually a word he associated with Anita.

Amir, realizing she was still expecting an answer, decided that telling Anita about his new shortcut wasn't a good idea. He didn't want her expecting him this early every day, after all. "I couldn't sleep."

She sighed. "Must be the weather or something. I couldn't sleep, either." She returned to her home with nothing more than a "Breakfast's ready."

Amir stared after her, shocked at the sympathy she'd displayed. No ridiculing laugh? No scolding for not starting work right away? Sleep-deprived Anita was clearly a pleasant figure to be around.

They ate their omelets in silence, as usual. Though at this point in their relationship the silence was usually comfortable, Amir felt distinctly ill at ease. Anita's eyes remained firmly focused on her rolled egg the entire meal. Amir kept sneaking glances at her, but she never rose to the bait, not even looking at him when she cleared the table.

What had he done to deserve this discomfort? It had been nice to have an argument-free morning, but Anita looked as if he'd kicked her dog. Actually, if he _had_ kicked one of her many animals, he was sure she'd look less heartbroken and more furious and violent. Unable to stand Anita's woe-is-me face without knowing the cause, Amir made his escape to the greenhouse to check on the blueberries.

Anita exhaled as soon as the prince had darted down the stairs. He hadn't made a single comment on how tense she was; maybe that meant he hadn't noticed, and she could ask him to dinner without him picking up on her nervousness. She hadn't been this worried about asking a boy to dinner since she was nineteen, and that had been as more than friends.

Would it feel any different, she wondered as she milked her cows, if she were asking Amir to dinner as a date?

She paused to think about this. Butterflies in her stomach, sleepless nights of worrying, and she'd probably brood a bit.

Anita swore. That was exactly what she'd been doing.

She briskly continued taking care of her morning chores. It wasn't like she had a schoolgirl crush on the man; she'd just never asked anyone to the Starry Night Festival before. When she'd first arrived in Zephyr Town, she'd been so focused on starting up her bootlegging business that she'd rarely seen the point in participating in the festivals that required wasting money rather than winning prizes. Her previous Starry Night Festivals had pretty much been normal dinners, with her maybe stargazing for a few minutes before she deemed it too cold to stay out any longer. Now that someone else was a part of her farm and its successes, it seemed almost rude to not invite them to the Starry Night annual dinner, even if it wasn't going to be anything special.

Anita nodded to herself, satisfied. No wonder she was so nervous; frankly, she didn't want Amir to think poorly of her Starry Night traditions, and so she ordinarily wouldn't invite him, but boy, it'd be rude not to, right?

The cow stared at her, almost like she was judging Anita's decisions.

"Well, I didn't ask for your opinion, anyway," Anita snapped, scooping up her ten bottles of milk to place in storage.

The cow mooed.

"Amir?" Anita called down the stairs, maybe quieter than she would ordinarily. Amir sighed. Was she disappointed that she actually had to talk to him when she'd been happily avoiding him all day? Even lunch had been another silent affair. "You down there?"

Of course he was. Where else would he—_oh,_ Amir remembered. He was supposed to go pick up the newest wine bottle shipment.

"I'm on my way," he responded, knowing she wouldn't scold him today. Amir trudged up the stairs, conflicted on whether he liked today's Anita or not. _Probably not_. He sort of liked riling her up.

Heading outside, Amir hooked Firefoot up to Anita's cart. Knowing how to ride a horse well was the one farmhand skill pre-Anita he'd picked up back home, and Anita had been quick to take advantage of it once she'd found out. In the beginning, because he'd been out of practice, he'd gone down the hill south of the farm rather slowly, but now he raced down it at full gallop, knowing the empty—and sturdy—cart behind him would be fine until he loaded it up full of bottles.

When he arrived at the bazaar grounds, the delivery man was already pacing impatiently, the crate of wine bottles lying at his feet. Amir snorted. He'd only been ten minutes late.

"There you are," the guy said as Amir began counting out the money Anita had given him. "I've been waiting for an eternity."

"Here's your payment," Amir said instead of an apology. He scooped up the crates and loaded them into the cart, throwing a blanket over them. Never hurt to be careful of curious eyes wondering what was inside.

When Amir got back to the farm, Anita was nowhere in sight. Amir shrugged and got to work, unloading the crates in Anita's now-familiar storage space, and returning to the greenhouse to pick the ripe blueberries to ferment.

By the time he'd finished packing the blueberries and grapes into the farm windmill, he still hadn't seen Anita. Deciding he was a bit worried, he stepped into the farmhouse again and came face to face with Anita.

Embarrassed, they both stepped back, and Amir could tell something was different about her.

"You're wearing makeup," he said, pleased that he'd noticed. Brown eyeshadow adorned Anita's left eye while purple was barely smeared on her right, which also sported black mascara.

"I'm trying out different stuff," she explained. "I can't figure out what I like yet."

"What's the occasion?" he asked, actually caring for once. It wasn't often that a farmer wore makeup.

"Oh, you know," Anita said vaguely. Before he could reply, she changed the subject. "What are your plans for the Starry Night Festival?"

Amir decided to let it drop. "I think I'm eating with the hotel family. They're making chocolate fondue."

"You like chocolate fondue?"

"Who doesn't?"

That made Anita smile, but it only lasted a second. "Well, I'm not having any chocolate fondue. I don't even know what I'll make for dinner."

"Oh? Who are you eating with?"

Anita fidgeted. "Oh, no one, really." There was a pause. "Okay, that was a weird lie. No one. Just me and my animals."

They were silent for a few moments. Amir didn't know what to say.

"Hey, I'm probably not having chocolate fondue, but I mean," Anita began, "you eat with the hotel family all the time, right? How about you spend a night with me? I mean," she said loudly, "dinner with me? Do you want to have dinner with me?"

Amir was quiet for a long time—so long that Anita could feel heat rising in her cheeks.

"You know what—" she began.

"Sure, I'll have dinner with you," Amir cut her off with a smile.

Anita blushed in surprise. "Yeah, it's really no big deal," she insisted. "If you'd rather eat with Ethel and everyone, go ahead. I was just curious because you work here and all."

"It's fine, Anita. I want to eat dinner here."

"Oh," she said quietly. "Okay, that's cool. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

He smiled again and turned to leave, knowing when he was being shown the door. As he was walking down the path, he heard Anita call, "You can have the day off tomorrow!"

Another smile. Amir went home still unsure as to why he accepted the invitation.

* * *

It was seven-thirty, and Anita still wasn't ready for the festival to start. Miso soup was bubbling away in a small pan on the stove, and the main dish—stew, of course—had just been brought down to a simmer. The chocolate cake was in the oven and would be ready in ten minutes.

And Anita was prancing about the farmhouse in her underwear.

Well, not so much "prancing" as dashing back and forth from her storage area to the mirror in her bathroom, deciding between the two styles of outfits she owned. There was her every-day work outfit, which she wasn't sure was appropriate, but in comparison to the other outfit…

The other outfit was a dress her mother had sent her last year that Anita hadn't even touched yet. It wasn't so much inappropriate as it was sophisticated and classy and almost too formal for a not-a-date. Simple but refined, it hugged her curves with swaths of deep purple fabric accentuated only a smattering of rhinestones on the corner of the sash. It was hardly appropriate for a farmer to wear, but her mother had never been that connected with her lifestyle choices, anyway.

Anita wriggled into the dress and was running to the mirror again when she heard a knock on the door. She moaned to herself—purple inappropriate date dress it was. She ran to the door and opened it as she forced a smile onto her face.

Amir grinned when he saw her. "So that's why you were trying on makeup yesterday," he teased. Anita blushed and fought the urge to hit him. "Glad to see you finally decided on something you liked. You look very nice."

Anita rubbed the corner of her mascara-encrusted eyelashes. "I only have a few kinds of makeup. There wasn't much to decide between."

He entered the house and removed his scarf, hanging it up on his usual peg by the door. To Anita's immense relief, he was wearing his prince robes in lieu of his usual work get-up. In his left hand he held a polished bottle of wine. Anita peered closer to read the label. It couldn't have been from her farm—she would have noticed if he'd taken something, of course, and he wouldn't dare to bring something he'd stolen for dinner…Besides, Amir didn't seem like the stealing type.

Amir noticed the direction of her glances. "I bought it from Joan on my way home last night," he explained. "She was having a special on Spring Wine. I'm getting sick of winter, and I thought you might like a taste of the incoming season."

Anita stared. "That's a really nice thought, Amir," she managed. "I guess I'll take the chestnut wine out of the fridge, then." She carefully took the bottle of expensive wine out of Amir's grasp and went to the kitchen, inviting Amir to sit down as she did so. "Dinner's just about ready. I hope you're hungry."

Returning from the kitchen, she set two bowls of miso soup down on the table.

"I put tofu in it, too," she said. "I hope that's all right."

"That's perfectly fine. I like tofu. Thank you."

They ate in companionable silence for a few moments, but it wasn't long before Amir attempted a conversation. He didn't think it was very fair to Anita for this night to be just another meal between a farmhand and his blackmailing boss.

"Yesterday, when I went to pick up the wine bottles, the delivery man was quite rude to me," he began. Anita glanced up, interested.

"It was ridiculous," Amir scoffed. "I was only about ten minutes late, and this man was acting as though he had so many more pressing matters to attend to."

"Being a delivery man is an important occupation, Amir," Anita said with a straight face. "Think of all the packing peanuts he had to stuff into boxes! Not just anyone can do that."

Amir chuckled. "Still, Zephyr Town needs a new delivery service. This is the third time I've met with the man, and he's been arrogant and impatient all three times."

"Well, who do you think in this town could _run _a delivery service? Dirk?"

They both laughed and continued eating. The conversation flowed nicely even through the main course, which Amir was delighted about, and all the way through to dessert.

Amir took a final bite of his chocolate cake, savoring the feel of silky chocolate over the soft cake for one last time.

"I don't mean to exaggerate," he said, hesitating at the praise he was about to lavish upon the woman, "but that was the best chocolate cake I've ever eaten."

Anita glanced up from her own plate in surprise. "Thanks. I've entered it in the Cooking Festival before; I'm surprised you didn't taste it then."

"Is that in the fall?"

"Yes—oh, right, you're not here," Anita remembered. "Well, I'm glad you could enjoy it here."

She began clearing the table of plates and empty wineglasses while Amir watched. As she was washing off the dishes in the sink, Amir leaned against the kitchen doorway with a thoughtful look on his face.

"It's the Starry Night Festival," he pointed out.

Anita glanced up irritably. "What? Yes, it is. I know that, Amir."

Amir glared for a moment before he remembered his original point. "Well, I was just thinking that it's a clear night. We should be able to see lots of stars. Isn't that what this festival is about?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Do you want to watch the stars with me?"

Heat rushed to Anita's face, and she remained where she was, safely facing away from the man. Such an invitation sounded distinctly romantic, especially for what was supposed to be an unromantic evening.

_But was it, really?_ Anita's subconscious helpfully supplied. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

"No?" Amir said.

"No what?"

"No, you don't want to watch the stars?"

Anita turned around, hoping that her face was no longer flushed. "I have a bench in my pasture that should be pretty nice. We can have a comfortable view from there."

Amir smiled a smile that made Anita's heart race. Sometime over the course of the dinner, Amir had stopped being her necessary-evil-farmhand and had become a charming gentleman. Maybe even a friend. Maybe even…

"Shall we go?"

"We shall," Anita said, a little louder than usual to clear her thoughts once more.

The pasture sparkled crystal white in the moonlight as they trudged up the hill to the bench. Anita had thrown on the matching shawl to her dress, but she doubted it would do much good. Shivering slightly in the winter evening chill, she regretted not just bundling up into her everyday jacket.

They brushed snow off the bench at the top of the hill and sat down together, just close enough to be cordial but not touching. They stared at the sky together, the moonlight causing their faces to glow slightly.

"They're beautiful," Amir said quietly, breathing out puffs of white air. Anita nodded.

"I didn't think I would want to come to dinner tonight," he continued after a few moments of silence. Hurt stabbed briefly through Anita's heart—hurt that was well deserved, she noted bitterly. "You are, after all, blackmailing me," he echoed her thoughts, "but that's only because I'm doing the same to you.

"But I'm having a lovely time tonight, Anita." He turned his face towards hers. "Do you think every day could be like this?"

"What?" Anita gasped, surprised by the conversation.

"Do you think maybe we could try being friends? You're not too irritating to deal with, I see," he said with a grin, "when you're not hounding me about my work. And I don't think I'm unpleasant company when I'm not being bitter about the blackmail."

"Sure," Anita sputtered. "Yeah, we could try being friends."

Amir flashed a smile, and Anita shivered. Unfortunately, he noticed.

"Are you cold?" For a frightening, hopeful moment, Anita was sure he was going to put his arm around her. "I can lend you my scarf," he said instead, and Anita exhaled in something that was sort of like relief and sort of like disappointment.

"I'm fine, thanks," she said. "It's getting pretty late, anyway. I might just head inside."

Amir stood and stretched. "It is, isn't it? I guess I'll be headed home."

Anita rose as well. "Oh, your wine. Come inside to get it.

He shook his head. "No, I insist. Keep it. Think of it as a thank-you gift for the lovely dinner."

He stepped closer. "Let me thank you properly for the dinner," he said quietly. Anita felt her pulse quicken. "Thank you very much for the wonderful evening, Anita. It was nice just being able to spend time with you like this," he continued.

Anita looked up, uncomfortable with his proximity. Abruptly, she stuck out her hand. Amir looked down in surprise. "You're welcome, Amir. Have a good evening."

Amir grinned and shook her hand. Within a few moments, he was headed down the hill with a wave.

"See you at work tomorrow!" Anita called after him. Once she was sure he was out of sight, she smiled to herself and went inside to bed.

Anita spent the next morning in the bathtub, closing her eyes in embarrassment at the memory of the previous night. She'd acted like such a love-struck teenager. Amir would never take her seriously now.

After she'd dried off, she stared at herself in the mirror.

"Foolish girl," she said to the reflection. "Don't let it happen again."

_AN: Here's a long one for the crappy previous shorter chapter! If you were wondering why this chapter was a little more romantically-written than the other ones, it's because I was listening to French love songs as I wrote. Sorry about that. Thanks for reading, thanks to those of you who choose to review, and see you next time!_


	5. Apio

The letters were waiting for Amir at the hotel desk when he finally arose around noon. Anita had given him the day off not because she knew he'd been up late celebrating the new year—he hadn't—but because Spring 1st was always a busy day for her, and she didn't want him getting in the way as she hurried to sow the spring crop seeds. Whatever the reason, Amir had enjoyed getting to sleep in, though he hadn't had a very restful night's sleep. For the past few days, a peculiar sort of stress had been hanging over him. Even more unfortunately, Anita had noticed.

It had been his birthday, and though he didn't have the day off, Anita had given him a container full of stew as well as the recipe should he ever deign to touch a stove. She'd served chocolate cake for lunch, and though he'd felt a bit silly blowing out the candles, Anita had insisted.

Perhaps he hadn't seemed particularly grateful for his present, or perhaps it had been his awkward reluctance in blowing out the candles, but either way, Anita got that steely-eyed look to her and, after a few moments, asked if something was wrong.

"I don't know," Amir had replied, which was true, though it only served to irritate Anita even more. She then proceeded to bombard him with unpleasant questions: I thought you liked chocolate cake, so why didn't you tell me if I was wrong? I got these candles on a good deal at the last bazaar, so if you didn't want to blow them out, why didn't you insist more? And, of course, What's your problem today, anyway?

Amir's answers hadn't seemed to satisfy her, and so she eventually opened up a bottle of mead and proceeded to drink her way through the forced conversation. It hadn't been the best birthday.

Anita, now that Amir thought about it, had seemed to be acting a little unusually herself for the past few days. Ever since the Starry Night festival, really. Though his request to try and be friends had seemed to be taken well, given the presents and the money she'd spent on candles, she seemed suddenly awkward and tense. It was almost as though Anita had never had a friend before.

This, Amir knew, was untrue. Anita might pretend to be fishing by the river for some extra income, but Amir was aware that she didn't want him to know she was using the opportunity to catch up with Antoinette. Or sometimes she would come home before Amir had finished up, tipsy and giggling, from spending a night at the cafe with Freya. No, Anita had friends. Maybe she hadn't kept in contact with the friends from wherever she used to live, but here, she was certainly well-liked. So what made Amir different?

The envelope on the first letter was made of thick, high-quality stuff, but he couldn't read the return address due to the second, slimmer letter lying just on top of it. He smiled as he recognized the unsure yet elegant swirl of his sister's handwriting. His sister was the only princess he knew who still insisted on addressing and mailing her own letters. She never had a scribe copy down her dictations, unlike his father, who was too noble to hold a pen himself.

Amir moved his sister's letter out of the way to glance at the other, and his heart sank. Ordinarily, a letter from his father himself didn't elicit such a response—perhaps he would feel mildly irritated at the nagging reminders to keep his studies up for the glory of the motherland, but for the most part, his father's letters were unremarkable at best. This time, however, Amir remembered what he'd written in his last letter.

He returned to his room as soon as he thanked Stuart for the mail, ascending the grand staircase with perhaps a bit too much speed befitting a dignified prince. He tossed his sister's letter onto his desk—work before pleasure, he reminded himself. Sitting on the bed and tearing his father's letter open with ferocity, Amir could feel his heart racing.

And then he felt it sink.

Amir threw the letter aside once he'd gotten to the list of his father's titles and lay back on the bed. The single sheet of fancy stationary didn't merit a second reading. The words _immature_, _ungrateful_, _rebellious phase _and _return home immediately _swam through his mind. He released a deep sigh, staring at the whitewashed ceiling in misery. It was exactly as he should have expected, and he had no idea why he hadn't done so.

Rage filled him, abrupt and hot. King of the motherland or no, his father had no right in dismissing his renouncing of the throne. Amir was an adult, capable of making his own decisions. He had explained his reasons very carefully in his previous letter, and they were solid reasons, good and strong. The last time he had been home, he had sworn his butler to secrecy and had had a mock debate with the man so Amir could find any flaws in his own arguments and fix them. His father would have to understand—otherwise, his sister wouldn't be suitably prepared to take the throne, and his father would doom the motherland to a future with an uncertain ruler. That was not Amir's goal in the slightest.

Reminded of his sister, Amir calmed himself enough to roll off the bed and grab the second letter off his desk. His heart sank even lower than it had before. Only now did he see the swirling _Read this letter first, brother! _scrawled on the back of the envelope.

* * *

Anita wiped the sweat off her forehead and sprinkled another bag of asparagus seeds into freshly plowed soil. It was already one o'clock, and Anita hadn't eaten since five that morning. She couldn't afford to—though she had watered her fields in advance, she still had an entire field to finish planting. In years past, she hadn't been this slow. This spring, however, a certain prince was on her mind, and it was infuriating.

In the days since the Starry Night festival, and in the nights spent tossing and turning without relief, Anita had finally come to realize that yes, she did have an embarrassing crush on the man. Even worse, she had no idea why. Though he wasn't snooty, he had a certain sheltered imperiousness to him that ordinarily would have driven the woman crazy, but in him she found it endearing. He'd never had to suffer through anything in his entire life, and that sort of naivety or lack of callouses or what-have-you usually made Anita sneer in a mildly self-hating fashion, but in his case, she found it refreshing, almost a type of cleansing light, if she wanted to sound pathetic.

If Anita really thought about it—which she had, damn it, judging by how long it was taking her for getting the stupid seeds ready—she would know that she was drawn to him for exactly the reasons that he wasn't what she considered her "type." She'd had her fights, and she had the scars to prove it. Amir, on the other hand, was pure, unadulterated, while at the same time there was a certain darkness in his personality that didn't make her shy away completely.

Did she hope for a future with the man? That stupid, newly awakened romantic side of her did, but realistically, no, she did not. In fact, she was rather enjoying her newfound friendship with him, even if she was completely ruining it by freaking out at him and drinking her awkwardness away throughout his birthday—

Anita shouted a filthy curse and tore open the next bag of seeds with too much energy, almost spilling the entire bag everywhere. Blushing furiously at the memory of her behavior, she attacked the remaining rows of plowed soil with vigor, trying unsuccessfully to wipe all thoughts of Amir from her mind.

* * *

The next bazaar day rolled around, because life continues even when it's ten o'clock when you finally get a bite to eat because you were daydreaming about a crush, even when your sister gives you all the warnings you needed before opening a letter you already read and before making your next step, and even when you have to spend almost every day with a person you can't decide if you're best friends or awkward enemies with.

Zephyr Town's need for the bazaar triumphed over all life's problems, and there was a sort of pleasant knowledge in that, that all problems would be placed on hold until six o'clock on a Sunday after all products were sold.

Products such as Amir's belongings.

"What are you doing?" Anita hissed at Amir, who paused in the middle of setting out a gaudy and exotic bracelet on the stall. She'd barely glanced at the large duffel bag he'd brought with him today; she had been too busy arranging the various turnip dishes she'd whipped up the previous day. Mashed turnip sold better than raw turnip, for some reason.

"I'm selling things," Amir explained with a look that clearly told her he was judging her intelligence, and that it wasn't measuring up well.

"I know that. I'm not an idiot." Anita glanced around to make sure no one was paying them much mind. It was only seven in the morning, and most bazaar workers hadn't even showed up yet. "What are you _selling_? We can't sell something that ostentatious!"

"Why not? We've sold jewelry before."

"Nothing that…fancy!" Anita snapped. "You're going to blow your cover!"

"Anita, I'm sure no one is going to look at my jewelry and think, 'he must be a prince!'"

She took a closer look at the bracelet. It was simple at first glance, but as she continued to stare at it, the intricate carvings surrounding a medium-sized ruby made its true worth apparent. No one would think Anita had managed to make it using a windmill.

"Amir," Anita said, enunciating clearly and softly, "this is a very dangerous thing to sell. We can't sell it for what it's worth—no one in this area will have the funds to buy it."

"I don't care. As long as it gets sold."

"My point is it's suspicious! Our regulars already know—" here she dropped her voice even lower so that Amir had to lean closer, "—we're selling liquor without a license. What will they think when they see we're selling jewelry?"

Amir fixed her with a look, clearly about to say something important. The intensity of his gaze and his close proximity made Anita uncomfortable.

"What a lovely bracelet! Anita, is that another one of your mother's gifts? I can't believe you're selling it!"

Both bootleggers jerked up guiltily. Claire stood in front of their stand with an admiring smile. The priceless bracelet was in her hand, almost carelessly dangling from a few fingers. Anita's stomach twisted.

"It's mine, actually," Amir had the gall to say. Anita turned to him, barely concealing the rage and incredulity on her face.

"Oh, really?" Claire looked puzzled. Anita clenched her hands into fists and forced a smile, prepared to explain away Amir's stupidity.

The young prince, however, glanced downward, looking mildly embarrassed. "My grandmother is forever foisting pieces of jewelry on me," he explained. "She's desperate for grandchildren and keeps sending me ridiculous pieces so I can give them to a girl to 'win her over' or something to that effect." He laughed awkwardly. "I finally told her enough is enough, and as she won't allow me to return them, I'm selling them so someone else gets a good use out of them."

"Oh, Amir!" Claire exclaimed with a titter. "Your grandmother isn't upset, is she?"

"Ah, she'll get over it," Amir replied with a small smile. "Frankly, it's embarrassing having this much of it. Of course I'll keep a few pieces so I'm not extremely rude, but really, I'd just like to get rid of it."

"I might have to stop by later, then!" Claire laughed. "I'm sorry to embarrass you, sweetie. Work hard today, you two!"

Once she was sure Claire was out of earshot, Anita glared at Amir. "Is that true?" she asked accusingly.

"Half of it," Amir said, the cheer he'd put on for Claire completely gone. "My grandmother really did give me all this, but I'm not selling these pieces because I'm embarrassed."

"Then—"

"I'll tell you later, Anita," Amir snapped. "It's a long story. Let's just sell everything. That's what's important."

Anita pursed her lips, unused to Amir losing his cool. "Fine," she said curtly. "But we can't sell these at full price. Let's say we're having a sale and sell everything half price. That should reduce suspicion, let us sell more, and still make an excellent profit."

"Sounds good," Amir replied, sounding relieved.

True to Anita's word, their stand prospered that day. Once bazaar-goers heard of the sale at the farmer's usually pricey stand, they quickly assembled to buy the pair's goods. The jewelry—all forty-two gaudy pieces of it—was the first to go, much to Amir's delight. Anita informed their "regulars" that yes, liquor too was half-off, meaning they sold all their cases, something that usually only happened when holidays were approaching. By the end of the bazaar, they had nothing left except for a few plates of mashed turnip which had to be tossed.

As soon as the last customers had departed, Anita packed up the stall, and the two silently trudged down to the farm to count out their coin. Once inside the farmhouse, Anita poured them both a glass of white wine as Amir dumped out his pockets full of gold on the table. As each purchase of one thousand gold was made, the coins were rolled up into pieces of paper that were then taped. At the bazaar, wrapping the coins could be a tedious process, but Amir had eventually learned how to do it relatively quickly, and it made adding up the profits much simpler and much less painful.

They counted coins in silence for a while longer before Anita's curiosity couldn't contain itself any longer.

"Amir," she said, and he glanced up from his work.

"Can it wait? I'm almost finished."

She waited for him to count out the final piles of coins before she spoke up again.

"You done?" Amir nodded. "How much?"

"Four-hundred thousand eight-hundred ninety-two, making it, uh…I think a million five-hundred thousand sixty," he responded after a moment of mental math. Anita whistled. "Yeah, I think that's the most we've ever gotten since I started working here."

"That's the most I've ever made ever," Anita said. "You're gonna bring home a decent cut."

For some reason, that comment appeared to put Amir in a bad mood. Anita peered at him from under her bangs. "Can you tell me now?"

"Tell you what?" he said irritably.

Anita sighed. "Don't get cute with me, Amir. You know what I mean. The jewelry?"

Amir didn't respond at first, only drank a large gulp of wine. "I got a couple of letters a few days ago," he informed her.

"From your sister?"

"Yes, but also from…from my father," he corrected her, almost spitting out the last four syllables.

Anita raised her eyebrows. "Did you tell him you were renouncing your claim?"

"Yes, in a letter. That's why—"

"I thought you were going to tell him when you went home in the fall?"

Amir grimaced. "I did, too, but…I got impatient. I explained my reasons very carefully in the letter, but he still called me all sorts of names."

"Seriously?"

"Well, no, not really. But it was implied. And he did say I was acting like a child—an ungrateful one at that."

Anita tipped her chair on its back legs as she glanced at his reflection in her wineglass. "Well, Amir, what did you expect? I mean, it's one thing to tell him in person. But writing a letter does kind of make you sound like a whiny kid. It makes it seem like you were in a bad mood and wrote an angry note to your daddy."

Amir glared at her, and Anita shrugged her shoulders in response. "I'm just saying, it makes sense."

He held his glare for a moment longer before his features fell, and he sighed into his wineglass. "I suppose you're right. Anyway, that isn't the worst of it. My sister sent me a letter that I hadn't noticed at first—on the outside, it told me to open it first."

"Ouch."

"My thoughts exactly. In the letter, she tried warning me about the letter's contents, and that my father was extremely annoyed with me. She says she overheard him telling his financial advisor to freeze my accounts if I don't 'see reason' soon." Amir sighed once more. "I'd thought this would take longer to happen; I wasn't prepared. So I decided that I should start getting ready for my new life in advance, starting with selling anything related to my old way of life—like the jewelry—so I could also start building up an income for myself."

Anita chewed her lip, mulling over what she'd heard. After a few moments, she grinned. There was a lightness in her heart despite the severity of the situation whose origin she couldn't quite place. Whatever it was, it felt good. She raised her glass to Amir.

"Sounds like things are going to start getting pretty interesting soon, Amir."

Amir didn't lift his glass in response. In fact, he looked rather befuddled. "What on earth are you going on about?"

"You need to start making a new life, and I can help. From what I've heard, your father will probably see that you're serious about this. I can't imagine he's going to take too kindly to that," Anita said. "So instead of panicking about it, I'm choosing to enjoy this situation. Let's see how this all plays out, and in the meantime, who cares about your father?"

Amir laughed, disbelieving. "You sure are taking this in a strange manner," he said to her.

"But it's better than freaking out, right?"

Amir raised his glass. "Much better. Let's see how this plays out."

_AN: Sorry, sorry, sorry this took so long! School's been hectic. But here's a longish update for you. Know that this story has never been abandoned—things have just been a little crazy lately. We're halfway through the story!_

_Also, and a little more importantly, my friend drew a Harvest Moonshine picture for me! You can sort of see it in the picture attached to this story, but if you want to see the full picture—which you do, because it is seriously awesome—then go to my profile and click the link. Shower her profile with love, because I'm so happy she did this for me._

_As always, thanks to my reviewers, new and old. Hope you enjoyed!_


	6. Landabrugg

"I see. How much would a room year-round be?"

Stuart coughed, obviously uncomfortable. "Well, you see, that depends, on, you know, well, it doesn't really actually depend on anything, it's just…Well, there's a fixed rate, Amir; you know I can't do anything about that."

"How much, Stuart?"

Another cough, another uncomfortable smile. "Well, I suppose it would cost five-hundred thirty thousand gold a year. But you'd be paying season by season, not all at once, of course."

It was a big number, all right, by any measure. What Amir was ignorant of was whether this was the standard price for a hotel in a village. It didn't matter, anyway.

"I see." Amir smiled tightly. "Well, mind if I get back to you on that? I might talk to Felix before I make a decision."

Stuart nodded. "I have to say, I'm surprised by the question," he began timidly. "I mean, gosh, you've been staying here for the past few years. If you don't mind my asking, I mean, well…"

Amir felt like an idiot. "My father was paying for my visits," he said, deciding not to volunteer any more information.

That explanation, however, stunned Stuart into sympathetic silence. Amir thanked him and left before any pity-filled questions about his home life could be asked.

* * *

"How disgusting," Anita sneered, dangling the letter from the tips of her fingers. It had been the same drivel that had plagued her for the last half of a decade—Guess what my simpering friend wore to my jewelry party? Have you gotten my last check, or wait, here it is on the table, I forgot to send it, oh golly, this is what I get for writing in pen? And, of course, When can I come visit to meet that boyfriend I know you're hiding from me?—but all that was old hat. Instead of signing a flamboyant "Mom" at the bottom, her mother had pressed her lipstick-caked puckered mouth. The kiss was a shade of fuchsia that would be unflattering to anyone with a skin tone other than—no, wait, unflattering to anyone with a skin tone, period.

The SWAK victim gingerly deposited the saliva-smeared sheet of stationary in the trashcan where it belonged and went to wash her hands. The frigidity of the tap water as it coursed over her fingers did nothing to quell her irritation. Honestly, the woman was so out of touch with reality—Anita's reality—that it was a wonder her head didn't float off to live among the clouds. If she knew the reason why Anita didn't—and didn't need to—cash the checks she occasionally remembered to send, most likely she'd smile in a wifty fashion, say, "That's nice, dear," followed by a request for a Pink Lady.

As if Anita lacked the pride needed to make such a disgusting drink.

Reminded of the reason she'd gone outside and seen the letter poking out of her seldom-used mailbox—to check on the year's first batch of strawberry wine—she padded into the kitchen. As she passed the dining table, the door opened without preamble, and there stood Amir in his work clothes.

"You're here," she said, pleased by his relative punctuality. "You could stand to knock, though. Aren't you supposed to be working the fields?" It was only his second week taking care of all four spaces of workable land, so although she wasn't terribly surprised by his needing some sort of help, her lack of frustration did puzzle her.

"Oh," he said without thinking, then, a more defeated, "Oh." He raked a hand through his bangs impatiently, and Anita found herself momentarily distracted by the unusual and disheveled state of his hair. "I forgot," he finally said with a sigh, and finally, the anger she'd expected fizzled into being.

"We have a bazaar tomorrow, fruit that needs to be picked, and you forgot you were working the fields?"

"Don't be angry at me, Anita." The command came out without force. Another surprise. "I really can't stand it if you're angry at me."

She laughed a disbelieving scoff. "When has something that mild hurt your tender feelings?"

"I said don't be angry at me," he repeated, this time with more steel in his voice.

"Better give me a reason."

He combed his hair with his fingers again. Hardly princely. "It was only to be expected. He froze my account."

"Your dad?"

"Yes," he said bitterly, "my father. That account was where the money was coming from for my room and board at the hotel. Stuart was doing taxes," uh oh, Anita realized, that time of year again, "and apparently the money stopped flowing three days ago. I'm in debt."

"Okay, well, that's bad," she replied, "but we just sold all that jewelry, right? You can pay it off."

"I suppose," he answered distractedly. "That's not the main concern. The main concern, of course, is how long I can afford to stay there. It's half a million gold to stay there year-long."

"Pocket change. You make that in two bazaars. More, once summer hits and I get my pineapples growing."

He shook his head with a rueful smile. "Oh, no. I said I was in debt, didn't I? Not just to Stuart."

Anita's mouth fell open. "You don't mean your—"

"That's correct. My father played around with the law before having them freeze my account. He says I owe the state for my travel, education and lodging expenses."

"Okay, well, that's also bad," she said. Her hands were shaking a little, trying to warn her that the worst news hadn't even hit yet. "But I mean, all that came from your account to begin with. How does that mean you're in debt? You could afford all that, right?"

"Because that account no longer belongs to me. It belongs to the state, my father, now. So basically, he's acting as though I just borrowed all of the money from the state, and that the only funds I have to my name are the ones I've earned through you."

Anita chewed her lip. A peculiar feeling was settling down her spine. "No, you have the jewelry—"

"Which apparently belonged to the state, not me. Most of it used to be stored in my safety deposit box. So I'm in debt from all that jewelry, too."

"Okay, okay, that's…that's fixable at least, right? We can just send along what we made off the jewelry. You know I keep good records."

Amir paused and looked at her. "You'd do that? That's the most money you've ever made."

Well, when he put it like _that…_

"Yes," she said instead, surprised by how confident the word sounded. She didn't add anything in case her weak resolve would suddenly manifest itself.

Amir let out a long, miserable sigh. "Well, that might help a little. The catch is, each day my account is in the negative, there's a fee. So every day that passes that I don't pay it off…well, it's basically accumulating interest."

Anita gave a sigh of her own. When had she become so invested in this person's life, especially his fiscal one? It almost felt like it was their shared responsibility, and in a way, it was. Their combined blackmailing efforts of the other had opened a window for him to renounce his claim, after all. She would have been absolved of all responsibility had she made no blackmailing efforts of her own, merely accepted his demands in the beginning. But of course, there was no way the Anita she knew would have ever done that, lovestruck or no.

"Anita?"

She'd been quiet for a long time, she realized. "How did you manage to learn so much about banking, anyway? I'm used to you blundering your way through the everyday troubles of we plebian folk."

Her attempt at humor didn't even crack a smile on his face. "My butler called after my talk with Felix to explain everything."

Butler. Wow. "Felix?"

Another sigh, this one even more miserable than the last. "I was wondering if he'd have a place for me to stay, or maybe a house for rent hidden away…I was desperate."

"Desperate enough to spend a little more money?" Anita was saying before she thought about it.

"Well, I'd have to do that in any case…"

An opening! her elated heart sang like the stupid bundle of nonsentient muscle it was. "Remember how I was saving up for a second story?"

Amir shook his head. "I'm not going to impose myself on you, Anita."

"You'd only have to stay at the hotel for as long as it takes for them to build a floor in the attic," she said rapidly. "Free room and board, you're getting paid, and we can focus on paying back your idiotic debts."

He started to say that she was taking the situation too lightly, that it was more money than even she'd seen that he owed, that it was a stupid idea, but all that came out was "We?"

"Yes, 'we,'" she mumbled, scuffing her sandals on the floorboards. "I think we're past the blackmail stage, at any rate. I feel responsible."

Amir looked away. He could feel heat rising in his cheeks, probably shame. "I never wanted to drag you into this, Anita," he said. "Well, maybe at first, had I known what would happen—no, not even then. I never hated you, you know," he added, almost apologetically.

"I never hated you, either," she said, avoiding his face in case he was looking at her. He wasn't, of course. "I am a little surprised by your lack of foresight, though. I mean, you didn't figure this would happen?"

"No," he replied morosely. "I didn't—I had no idea. I knew I'd lose my account, but I didn't think he'd go this far." He leaned against the door and closed his eyes. Conversation had been so unpleasantly tense that he hadn't even though to sit down. "I wasn't even first in line to the throne, you know."

"No, I didn't."

"My older sister is before me, and if my father were to die while she was still alive, my mother would take up the throne beforehand. He's just a selfish," he hit his head on the door, "arrogant," again, "baby who doesn't like it when things don't go his way," with the final word accentuated by another knock.

"You're going to ruin my door, Amir," Anita said in lieu of answering.

He rubbed the back of his head in a half-embarrassed, half-dazed fashion. "Sorry. That wasn't polite of me. I've just never felt so trapped before-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," Anita interrupted. "It is already eight AM and I am in no mood to have a heart-to-heart with you right now."

"Hasn't that been this whole discussion?"

"Money I understand. Money is tangible. You know me. I'm no good with feelings," she said with a crooked, forced smile.

He did know her, Amir realized. He did know her, knew her selfish tendencies and, true, money-oriented mind…and still she was helping him. He smiled without meaning to in response to her awkward one. "I'll get to work," he said. "Might as well start making up that money."

"I'll talk to Gannon at the bazaar tomorrow," she responded. "Don't worry."

"I'll worry," he said with a derisive chuckle as he exited. "I'll worry."

* * *

The strawberry wine would be ready for the bazaar tomorrow, Anita noted. There were six bottles that had been fermenting, top-quality stuff—twenty-one-hundred a pop. The jewelry in the other windmill was probably done by now, and—what she was most excited for—the blended perfume that she'd been waiting years to perfect would be ready around noon. All five spritzers of the stuff. That was almost seventy thousand gold a bottle.

If it hadn't been for the whole debt thing, life would be pretty good. In fact, now that the whole blackmail thing was almost out the window, replaced, sort of, by friendship, maybe she could play Amir up to the townspeople as a romantic hero—an exiled prince drowning in debt who needed assistance.

Yeah, as if that didn't sound like a scam. Besides, for whatever reason, the man still seemed adamant about the villagers not knowing his origins.

She popped her head out of the grinding windmill to see if she could catch a glimpse of the prince in question over the treetops and was surprised to see no human movement on her farm. Probably in the greenhouse.

Or maybe he was taking a break. Anita, at least, had deserved one, and now seemed an appropriate time to do so. Her stomach told her it was nearing lunchtime, and she debated taking lunch at the café versus making herself and Amirself something springlike. Frugality seemed more important here, a concept she hadn't been too familiar with of late.

It wasn't too long of a trek back to the house if she took a running leap over the river, which she did, landing badly and sliding a little into the dirt. Well, maybe a bath before cooking.

Amir was nowhere in sight on the farm. She called his name down the stairs once inside, but no response. "You better not be ignoring me," she shouted, half-teasing. "I just thought of a motto: those in the red get no bed!"

Still nothing.

The bath relaxed her, at least—made her forget the sudden economic responsibility she'd taken onto her back. Anita lazily coaxed bubbles out of the water and sent them floating through the air before stabbing them with her pointer finger. Aware of the time and her rumbling stomach, she unplugged the drain, dried herself, wiggled into fresh clothes and left the serenity of the bathroom, the cold air of the main house a reminder about the unpleasant ice of reality.

Which apparently included store-bought cookies on the table.

Puzzled, Anita turned her head to glance at the calendar. Spring Harmony Day. Only now did she hear the footsteps quickly making their way down the steps. A quick retreat.

_AN: Like I said, never been abandoned. Sorry if you'd given up hope! We're more than halfway now, and updates will be speedier, especially since I've been playing a ton of HM lately. I'm also sorry for a short chapter after such a long wait, but hopefully (if you like the story) its brevity will be compensated by faster updates! Thank you to those who review, and thanks to all for reading! Oh, by the way, the friend who drew the Moonshine picture for me deactivated her deviantArt account. Boo! If you're interested in seeing the picture in all its glory (you can see a snippet of it in the story's image), send me a PM! We can work something out.  
_


End file.
